First Strike (40 page)

A plan slowly started to take shape in his mind. The Funks were gambling, drawing down their forces on the Tarn border to dangerously low levels. It
 
had
 
to be their final attempt at winning the war outright. Another failure would topple the Empress and trigger a civil war. If Tobias could get First Strike Fleet back to Earth in time to intercept the enemy superdreadnoughts, Earth might be saved. And if the Hegemony believed that First Strike Fleet remained at Hammerfall, their estimates of how powerful the Federation Navy was would become distorted. ECM drones could pose as the cruisers for a few weeks. If worst came to worst, Hammerfall would be recaptured – but keeping Hammerfall wasn't worth losing Earth. Without Earth, their only option would be surrender.

He keyed his console and opened a channel. “Command conference, right now,” he ordered. He’d have to share his thoughts with his officers, make the deployments – and then order a complete media blackout. At least he didn't need anyone’s approval for fleet deployments. Even sending a message back to Earth might be risky. Who knew who might be listening? “And then authorize Blackout. I say again, authorize Blackout.”

* * *

The newspaper had been in decline before first contact, challenged by television and then by the internet, the most remarkable medium for spreading lies and half-truths ever invented. But First Contact had given them a new chance at life. Streaming video over light years was incredibly expensive, making it far cheaper to simply send compressed text. Adrienne was halfway through writing a report on Hammerfall when her cabin’s hatch chimed. When she opened it, she saw a grim-faced Marine carrying a sidearm.

“Excuse me,” he said, in a tone that was both polite and firm, “but I’m afraid I have to secure all of your electronic devices.”

Adrienne gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have been ordered to secure all of your electronic devices,” the Marine said. There was no give in his voice at all. “All of them, including your watch. I must warn you that attempting to conceal electronic devices until the lockdown is lifted will result in brig time and charges of attempted espionage when we return to Earth. If you would prefer brig time, please let me know.”

“No, thank you,” Adrienne said, stiffly. The Marine was only doing his job, even if it did impinge on her ability to do hers. It was about as pointless as ordering passengers on a jumbo jet to turn off their cell phones, but pointing that out would be equally pointless. “I have a tablet, a laptop and a secure storage hard drive. And a watch.”

The Marine picked them up and scribbled out a receipt for her. “I have to search your cabin as well,” he added, more apologetically now that she was cooperating. “Blackout has been declared.”

Adrienne lifted an eyebrow. Blackout? Hadn't there been something in the papers she’d signed when she’d embedded about Blackout? She thought back, remembering that the military had the right to completely forbid transmissions from its ships if it believed that making transmissions would violate operational security. Taking her laptop seemed like pointless paranoia, but some reporters had managed to hack starship communications systems before and use them to get messages out.

“I forgot to bring my lacy underwear,” she said. “It’s all strictly functional, I’m afraid.”

She’d hoped to get a rise out of the Marine, but he ignored her and searched her cabin with rigorous efficiency. Adrienne rolled her eyes behind him as he removed the sex toy she’d brought along and dropped it into his bag. Did he think she’d hidden a transmitter in a vibrator?

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the Marine said, gravely. “The items will be returned as soon as possible.”

He left, leaving a puzzled Adrienne sitting in her cabin.

Something was up, but what?
 

“Miserable looking world, isn’t it?”

“I couldn't say, sir,” Commander Spinner said. “I grew up in Nevada. We were used to deserts.”

Markus shrugged. The Funk homeworld – called Squeak Hiss Squeak by the Funks and Hegemony Prime by everyone else – was as dry as dust. Most of the planet’s water existed below the surface, with only a couple of Australia-sized seas. It wasn't a pure desert, but it was easy to see how it had evolved a race determined to reach out and take every resource it could. The Funks had yet to evolve past the patterns they’d developed for survival on their world and they might never manage to do so. It wasn't as if anyone had stood up to them before humanity had given them a bloody nose.

The Funks might have copied Galactic technology without developing more for themselves, but they’d used what they’d copied ruthlessly. A massive shipyard hung near Hegemony Prime, protected by a network of fortifications and patrolled by destroyers and frigates. The Funk Home Fleet orbited the planet itself, watching endlessly for signs of a possible attack – and, according to the transmissions, providing a very visible reminder of the Empress’s power. It sounded as if parts of the planet were under martial law.

“I don’t think we’ll get much closer,” Spinner added. “They’re checking every freighter before it even enters orbit.”

“Clever of them,” Markus said. The Funks didn't want another freighter crammed with antimatter detonating anywhere in their system. It would probably render Hegemony Prime uninhabitable, which would have brought the wrath of the Galactics down on Earth, but in their place he wouldn't take it for granted either. The Traders Alliance had actually helped, in some ways, by declaring their embargo. They’d managed to limit the number of freighters visiting Hegemony Prime, which made it easier for the Funks to inspect them all without undue delay. “And the minute they get a close look at our hull, they’ll realise that we’re rigged up to launch gunboats.”

It was unlikely in the extreme that the gunboats would be able to inflict any major damage on their own. Even if their enemy hadn't the experience and motivation to develop countermeasures, they’d have had to burn through massive defences before reaching any vital target. A swarm of gunboats – or the missiles deployed at Hammerfall – might have worked, but Earth didn't have enough gunboats to punch through the planet’s defences. Markus was silently grateful that he’d hashed out a plan that might work, even though he felt guilty about asking people to take on risks he wouldn't be facing himself. But if the Hegemony managed to capture him alive, they’d ensure that his death was slow and very painful.

He tapped his console. “Sergeant McDonald,” he said, “are you ready to deploy?”

“Yes, sir,” the Marine said. He’d volunteered for the mission, once he’d understood what the mission actually entailed. It would be one hell of a stunt if they pulled it off and got out alive. “How long do we have before you go hot?”

“Roughly seventeen minutes,” Markus said. The enemy shuttles hadn't reached
 
Formidable
 
yet, but they might decide to inspect her earlier once they realised that she was the same class as the ships humanity had turned into gunboat carriers. Or maybe they’d already had plenty of false alerts. The Galactics only had a few dozen different freighter designs. “You may deploy when ready.”

“Understood, sir,” McDonald said. “Good luck.”

In the cockpit of his gunboat, Markus been calm and ready to face danger. On the bridge, a helpless observer, he found himself fretting about all the things that could go wrong. His wife Carola was going to be out there, fighting the Funks, while he watched from afar. He could bug out at any minute while she would have to fight her way out. They’d known that they could die together; somehow, the thought of living on without her was intolerable.

The minutes ticked away as the Marines deployed and the enemy shuttles came closer, sweeping nearby freighters with tactical sensors. Markus braced himself as the gunboats powered up, knowing that this was the most dangerous part of launching them. It hadn't bothered him before that an alert enemy might just be able to destroy
 
Formidable
 
before her gunboats were launched; now, he found himself unable to avoid thinking the worst. How had Captain Walsh made it look so easy to take command?

“Here they come, sir,” Spinner said. “Two minutes to intercept.”

“Punch the gunboats,” Markus ordered. Grumble Squadron was blasted free of the carrier, followed rapidly by Eagle and Dare Squadrons. Dare had been transferred from
 
Illustrious
 
to ensure that
 
Formidable
 
had three veteran squadrons, but they’d fit in nicely with the other two. It had probably helped that Markus had chewed out anyone who wanted to pick a fight. “Tell them to fire at will.”

Led by Carola, Grumble Squadron formed up and charged right at the enemy shuttles. The Funks, caught by surprise, didn't stand a chance. They were picked off and destroyed before they could even scream for help. The remaining gunboats fell on the freighters, hacking them apart before moving on to the next targets. Markus watched helplessly as the planet’s defenders came to life, launching a wing of assault shuttles towards the gunboats. They didn't have the endurance of the gunboats, which was limited compared to that of a starship, but they did have guts – and numbers. Nearly a hundred assault shuttles were closing in on his wife.

“Grumble Squadron is altering course and deploying drones,” Spinner reported. “Drones are going active… now!”

Markus smiled. The Hegemony had seen humanity’s improved ECM drones at Hammerfall, but they had yet to devise a counter. ONI had been certain that one or more of the Galactics would be inspired to invent countermeasures – and sell them onwards to the Funks – sooner or later, but none had materialised in time to aid the defenders. They had to know that some of the sensor returns they were getting were nothing more than ghosts, but it would be impossible to tell the difference unless they reached close range. And if the sensor ghosts were hiding missiles, allowing them to close could be disastrous.

There were no illusions about how long the sensor ghosts would fool the Hegemony. A smart tactical analyst could probably have sorted half of the fakes from the real gunboats by now, but the ghosts would work long enough to keep the Funks distracted. The real threat lay elsewhere.

* * *

The immensity of space could defeat even the most hardened soldier. Humans were less than sand grains on an immense desert; even the largest artificial structures built by the Association were tiny compared to stars and planets. Conrad felt… meaningless, almost insignificant, as he and his Marines drifted closer to their target. It was that very insignificance that gave them a limited immunity from detection, but he knew better than to take it for granted. The Funks would be listening for anything that might betray their presence. A second of radio chatter could get them all killed.

He watched as the Funk shipyard slowly came into view. It was immense, larger than the shipyards built in orbit around Luna by the human race, a spidery network of structures right out of a science-fiction movie. Unlike the free-floating shipyards designed by humanity, it was one vast structure, a design that provided the Funks with a number of advantages – and at least one weakness. A disaster on one part of the platform might spread to other platforms and cripple the entire complex. His blood ran cold as he saw three superdreadnoughts in varying stages of construction, being slowly assembled by the Funks. How long would it be until they were ready to join the fleet massing to attack the human-held stars? ONI hadn't ventured to even
 
guess
 
at the answer.

The tachyon web appeared in front of him and he braced himself, even though he knew it was futile. A cloaked ship couldn't have slipped through the network without being detected, simply through disrupting the tachyon field. The Marines had an ace up their sleeve, unless the Funks had anticipated their tactics and planned accordingly. Conrad smiled to himself as the tachyon generator came into view, a structure roughly about the same size as a destroyer – and copied from plans developed by the Cats. The Marines touched down on its surface and scrambled towards the access port embedded in the generator’s hull. If the Funks had anticipated their arrival...

No enemy shuttles appeared to pick off the Marines while they were helpless. Two of the tech experts linked their suits into the systems and started to hack into the computers, using hand signals to keep the other Marines informed. It would have been neat if they could have shut down everything, but the Funks weren't stupid enough to link all of their systems together. They’d discovered that that was a bad idea long before film director Ron Moore had made famous the idea of using computer hacking to take down a defending fleet.

A hatch opened and he smiled, leading the Marines into the interior of the generator. There was another hatch on the other side, one that would allow them to get into the shipyard without triggering any alerts. He opened it and peered out, watching for traps. There was no sign of anything dangerous, apart from a handful of Worker Bee vehicles buzzing about the shipyard.

Probably giving tours for political leaders
, he thought, as the Marines started to drift through the shipyard. He’d seen human shipyard workers giving similar tours to their political superiors, back when he’d been in training. There had always been the danger, if highly unlikely, of a collision that would leave them all dead. The shipyard grew closer and closer...and then he found himself standing on the superstructure. His head swam, despite the training, as his mind struggled to cope with the shifting perspective. Some of the skills he’d learned as a Royal Marine were actively harmful to a Federation Marine. In space, there was no need to have everything in the same orientation.

And it was quite possible that someone working on the ships would see them with the naked eye. The combat suits were designed to blend in with their surroundings, but there were limits, particularly if the person who saw them was experienced enough to know what should and shouldn’t be there. Quickly, the Marines split up into four fire teams and headed towards their objectives, the mules unloading their backpack antimatter mines and beginning the arming sequence. It was a shame that they couldn't bring enough antimatter to vaporise the entire shipyard, but carefully-placed charges would wreak havoc. The first point – a worker’s den, hidden
 
inside
 
the superstructure, came into view – and he cursed. There were at least five Funks in the den, wearing light shipsuits.

Probably slacking off
, he thought, remembering the ‘peacekeeping’ missions the Royal Marines had handled on Earth. The Western troops had been professional, but the ones from Asia or Africa had been a very mixed bag. Some had been reasonably professional, others had been looters, rapists and child molesters. It had been a relief when they’d pulled out, even though it hadn't solved much for the locals.

Shaking his head, he extended the knives on his suit and opened the hatch. The Funks were caught completely by surprise, unable to react before he was among them, lashing out with augmented strength. Training accidents had crippled a number of would-be Federation Marines before they’d ever been commissioned into the force; he hit one Funk’s scaly head and saw it disintegrate in a shower of disturbingly human-like red blood. The other four died before they could summon help, or even alert their security teams. Conrad positioned his mine in the right place, nodded to his comrades and then led the way back up the superstructure.

A superdreadnought hull loomed below him, her vitals exposed as Funks worked on her; absently, he wondered just how badly it would cost them when the ships were destroyed. The other teams met up with him at the RV point and exchanged brief hand signals, confirming success. Keeping a wary eye out for guards, they started to run back towards the rigged tachyon generator – and collided headlong with just a small group of workers. The Marines tore them apart in a storm of whirling knives, but not quickly enough to prevent them from transmitting a distress signal. It was vaguely possible that the Funks wouldn't realise that the shipyard was being attacked by humans...

…But Conrad knew better than to rely on it.
 
Formidable
 
and her gunboats were still wreaking havoc in the system, daring the Funks to uncover their homeworld and come after them. There was no longer any point in trying to hide; the Marines leapt off the superstructure and raced for open space. Behind them, the timers on the mines started to count down the seconds to detonation. Even if the Funks killed them all, they’d be too late to save their shipyard.

“Assault shuttles inbound,” one of the Marines sent. “Weapons hot?”

“Weapons hot,” Conrad confirmed. The Marines hadn't brought their plasma rifles, but the internal weapons on their suits should be enough to let them give a good account of themselves. “Time to detonation; two minutes, seventeen seconds.”

The shuttles came into view and the Marines opened fire, targeting vulnerable points like cockpits and portholes. A shuttle staggered out of the firing line, another exploded… but the remainder could track the Marines by their own blazing fire. Three Marines died within seconds as the Funks returned fire, followed rapidly by two more. The remaining shuttles drew back out of range, puzzling Conrad until he realised that they’d probably want to try to capture the would-be infiltrators alive. He smiled as the counter on his HUD ticked down to zero. They were in for a nasty surprise.